The moon hung lower than ever, a pale witness to blood and silence. Shadows stretched long across the courtyard where Oliver lay. His breath was shallow, almost stolen, when Amelia fell to her knees beside him. Her voice broke into the night like a prayer too heavy for the stars.
"Oh my beloved… what spell of ruin has dared to claim you? What shall I become without the light of your eyes? What song shall I sing, when your silence drowns all sound?"
Then, as though her grief had summoned the heavens, silver fire seared their skins. The Moon Goddess's mark blazed on Oliver's chest and Amelia's arm, a mirror of eternal binding. A collective gasp rose from the crowd—the sacred seal of mateship had revealed itself.
The courtyard still shimmered with the glow of Oliver's and Amelia's marks — the seal of destiny carved by the Moon Goddess herself. The crowd was breathless, watching the flames fade into skin, as if heaven itself had branded their souls together.
Amelia trembled beside Oliver, her tears glistening with both sorrow and relief. The world knew now — they were bound. And just then, from among the stunned faces, Nina stepped forward.
Her lips curved into a smile, soft, almost sisterly. "So it is true," she whispered, her voice lilting like silk. "The Goddess has entwined you both, Oliver… Amelia. A bond so radiant that even shadows dare not touch it."
The people nodded, touched by her grace. But in her eyes — oh, her eyes told another story. A fleeting gleam, sharp as polished glass, flashed across them.
Deep within, Nina's thoughts tangled like a serpent coiling.
"I was always closer to Oliver than Amelia ever could be. His laughter found me first, his secrets rested with me. Yet the Goddess chose otherwise. Strange… cruel. Still… let them have their glory. Let them bask."
Meanwhile Amelia's tears blurred the world, but Oliver's lips curved faintly, as if mocking death itself. His voice was hoarse, yet a strange brightness lingered in it.
"Amelia… how could I abandon the world, when your face lingers above my every dream? Death itself hesitates when you appear. Perhaps the Reaper waits, hoping first to glimpse you before taking me away."
He coughed, a shadow of pain running through him—yet he laughed. "Imagine it, Amelia. The Moon Goddess, furious that her most handsome creation slips away too soon. She would tear the heavens apart to drag me back."
The crowd's silence cracked into nervous laughter, though a hush quickly returned. For his words felt too close to prophecy, as though some unseen truth had spoken through his tongue.
And then—he came.
Theodore descended, each step echoing like the toll of a hidden bell. The Crescent Alpha's eyes glowed gold, cold and merciless, yet burning with pride. Before Isabella's grandmother he halted, his gaze piercing through Isabella herself as if no one else existed.
Theodore's smile was carved into perfection, but inside his heart, his voice drummed like a cursed hymn.He spoke with himself
Moon above, why bind me to her?
Why gift me fire and then drown me in water?
She is ruin wrapped in silk, a thorn painted as a rose.
But let it be so. For every rose has petals to be plucked, one by one.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze fixed on Isabella. To anyone else, his smile looked like grace. But deep within, his words coiled like serpents.
I will not love you, Isabella. I will not worship you as fate demands. Instead, I will carve the word "pain" into your every dawn. Compared to my hate, hell itself shall look like mercy.
And still, he smiled. Smiled as though she were the treasure of the Crescent Moon.
Isabella's breath caught. Something in his smile—too steady, too perfect—gnawed at her. She lowered her lashes, but the words surged inside her chest, a private whisper only her heart could hear.
You hide your hate, Alpha, but you cannot hide it from me. That smile—oh, it is a mask painted with venom. You plan to make my life a hell deeper than hell itself? Then plot your plots. We shall see whose spirit shatters first. Yours… or mine.
Their eyes locked again, and in that collision, the air seemed to tremble. His hatred sang like poetry; her defiance answered like thunder.
And thus, beneath the golden moonlight, the Crescent Alpha and the half-human bride became not just bound by fate—but bound for war.Then suddenly his he spoke .
"Tell me," his voice rang, low but commanding, "when shall the marriage be? For I, Theodore—the Crescent Alpha—shall take Isabella as mine."
Whispers shivered through the air. The wind itself stilled, listening.
Yet behind his smirk, shadows stirred in his thoughts. "Half-human," his heart hissed, "and yet mine she must become. If I crown her, she will shine. Not by her worth, but by my touch. This is not love—this is conquest."
The moon dimmed, as though ashamed to shine upon such vows. Isabella's eyes, purple like twilight flame, locked with his golden stare. For a single heartbeat, the air grew thick with silence—mysterious, suffocating—until it seemed the night itself leaned closer, waiting for what fate would reveal next.